


i always say i'll never change, but i ain't the same

by sadie18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, M/M, Post-Break Up, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 12:38:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadie18/pseuds/sadie18
Summary: marcus fucks it up-title from "hurt feelings" by mac miller





	i always say i'll never change, but i ain't the same

**Author's Note:**

> started off as a vent piece lmao but i could never write angst without a happy ending

Marcus really did it this time. He'd gone and fucked it up  _royally._

He always fucked it up.

He hadn't meant it, not a word, not a breath of what he said. Tensions were high and he was just so  _tired_ and sick of it that he had just let out the nastiest, darkest and unhappiest parts of his mind out into sentences and jibes like whips.

He hadn't meant to hurt Oliver like that, no. 

They got into fights often, petty arguments and exchanged snarks, but it would always end with Oliver's tongue down Marcus' throat and Marcus unbuttoning Oliver's quidditch robes and they would mumble an apology and an "I love you" in the empty dormitory.

But Marcus had crossed a line that day. Not only crossed, but leaped wholeheartedly, angrily and frustratedly. 

It started when Marcus had failed his fucking quiz.

Snape had looked at him with a look of utmost disgrace, the thoughts _'how is this fool in my house'_ probably running through his mind. He had to bite his lip from decking his professor right in his greasy, pointy, hooked _beak_ for a nose. 

Then he got told off by three different professors on three different occasions. Sprout had shrilled at him for running in the greenhouses while rushing to  _her_ class, and this was because  _McGonagall_ had sternly lectured him for not handing his Transfiguration essay on time, which was because  _Flitwick_ had put him in detention the night before for falling asleep in class because he had to run a training. And to top it all off,  _Pomfrey_ verbally spanked him for playing with a concussion that hadn't fully gone away. 

After being ripped at by professors and adults, he received a letter at lunch from his mother and father in looping cursive on expensive parchment inquiring about his grades, inquiring about Quidditch scouts, inquiring about if he would " _drop the silly sport and join his father's company at the end of the year_?" There was a thinly-veiled demand there, veiled only by his mother's simpering words. 

Then he had a training to run, and it was  _awful._ The weather matched his mood and it was overcast and raining darkly. Nobody was in the mood to play, and to be quite frank, nor was Marcus, and that was saying a lot. Malfoy wouldn't catch the fucking snitch, Montague kept dropping the ball, and Warrington had knocked Pucey off his broom because he couldn't swing a bat to save his _life_. Marcus couldn't stand watching them play anymore, after an hour of shouting himself hoarse, and let them go with 40 laps as punishment as he stormed into the lockers so they didn't see him just  _scream_ in the lockers about anything and everything. 

At dinner, he found that he had received another letter, this time from his father and only his father, and without his mother to try and sugarcoat his harsh words, Marcus felt suffocated by the lump in his throat after reading it. 

 _"You_ will _go into the Flint businesses after your final year. We are looking for someone to betroth you to, and you_ will _marry her.'_ It said. _"You'll never be good enough at quidditch to make the big leagues, and only the big leagues get anything. If you stay with quidditch, you'll be a failure."_

_'You'll never be good enough.'_

Marcus had to excuse himself from the table early, not touching his food, holding only the letter and not even bringing his bag and rushing out as fast as he could. 

It was only till he reached the pitch, where it was still raining and muddy, that he tore and ripped and balled up the paper till it was just a hundred pieces of soggy paper with unintelligible ink running.

 _'You_ will _marry her.'_

"Marcus?" 

He turned around to see Oliver, through the haze of the rain and his misery, standing under the bleachers away from the downpour. 

_'You'll be a failure.'_

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned. "I saw you leave the hall early."

Marcus walked over, feeling his hair mat to his face and the raindrops slip down his face, and nobody would every be able to see that one of those drops was a tear, and that's how bad Marcus was feeling, because Marcus Flint didn't cry. 

"What's wrong?" Oliver said, pulling his wand out and casting a drying charm, and a warming charm. 

"Nothing." Marcus said, making his voice firm, a wall. He felt cold, even under Oliver's magic. 

Oliver's eyebrow furrowed. "Don't lie to me, Marcus. What's wrong?" 

"It's nothing, Oliver." He muttered. 

"Marcus, I'm not thick." The other boy said, his Scottish brogue thickening. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, Oliver. I'm fine."

Oliver's eyes fired up with something akin to anger, but Marcus knew him better then that, and he knew Oliver just cared in the most passionate way any boy could. 

"Why won't you open up?" Oliver snapped. "What's wrong, Marcus? Don't lie to me, okay? I love you!"

Marcus felt a twinge of guilt at the amount of anger that rose in him, because he didn't _want_ to talk about it, and if Oliver loved him, he'd leave him _be_. 

"I'm not lying about anything, Oliver, there's nothing fucking wrong!" He shouted, the lump in his throat there again. 

"Don't you trust me?" Oliver said back, loud with frustration. "You can't just keep all your shit bottled up like you do, Marcus! It's not healthy-"

"It is not-" Marcus interrupted, "-your place to tell me what's good for me. I'm so  _sick_ of fighting with everyone telling me who I am, what I am, and how I should go about living my life! It's not like everybody's going to stop telling me what to do anytime soon, so maybe I'll just fucking listen to them."

"Maybe you should, sometimes, you stubborn git!" Oliver yelled. "You don't always have to fight!"

"Yeah?" Marcus' pitch rose higher and higher, until his voice was cracking. "Yeah? Maybe I won't fight anymore then! Maybe I'll just marry some simple fucking pureblood girl and forget about _you_ and go into business and be miserable for the rest of my _fucking_ life! It would be easier, wouldn't it?"

Oliver flinched at that, looking as if he'd been slapped, and Marcus stared coldly, his stomach churning as he realised what he said. 

"It would be easier? To forget about me?" Oliver whispered, his eyes hurt.  _No. No no no no no._ "Is that what you think?"

"N-no!" Marcus choked and reached out his arm, and another bit of his heart cracked when Oliver swatted it away roughly as if it was a Quaffle in a quidditch game. A game. 

"Save it, _Flint_." Oliver muttered, sneering his name, the last name Marcus had never so desperately wanted to deattach his name from until now. Oliver hadn't called him Flint in forever. It sounded like a dirty word, falling from his mouth. "I apologise for being a  _burden._ You don't need me."

When Marcus watched Oliver's departing shoulders hunch and his fists clench as he turned the corner, out of Marcus' sight, that's when he let the tears flow, when he finally let his anger and sadness flow out of him in rivulets. He slumped to the ground and finally, finally let it go. 

It seems like he had kept so much to himself, because by the time he had gotten back up and wiped furiously at his eyes what felt like hours later, the stars had come out and Marcus had never felt so alone. 

* * *

 

A year, give or take, ago, was when Marcus had first fucked up. But it was just him, and it ended fine, if he could say anything about it. 

_"Why are you such a git to me?"_ _Oliver shoved Marcus' shoulders. Hard. Marcus felt his back collide with the ceramic wall of the locker rooms. "You don't torment any of my teammates or housemates as much as you bully me, so don't try and say it's because we're rivals. Quidditch is a team sport!"_

_"Bugger off, Wood." Marcus snarled, straightening up. His heart was pounding hard inside his chest, bursting to admit the real reason he would push Oliver in the corridors and body check him 50 meters in the air. "You're batshit crazy."_

_"What's your fucking problem with me?" Oliver demanded again, as if he hadn't heard what Marcus said. "We got off on the wrong foot in second year, and we still haven't gotten over that? Do you realise how pathetic that is?"_

_"I told you-" Marcus pushed Oliver back. "To bugger off. Or are your hearing skills as shit as your keeping?"_

_Oliver growled and swung at him. Marcus expected it though, and moved, but the fist still caught him in the jaw. His teeth clacked furiously and  Marcus wondered why he couldn't deal with feelings like a normal fucking Hufflepuff._

_Instead, he tackled the Gryffindor._

_Here were two, almost of age boys, brawling on the floor of the locker rooms. Their angry shrieks and grunts echoed off the walls._

_"Just tell me, for fucks sake!" Oliver screamed up at Marcus, spitting. "It's driving me crazy, okay? So what the fuck is it?"_

_Marcus stopped shaking Oliver, realising his compromising position. He was straddling Oliver, Marcus' hands tangled in the lapels of his red quidditch robes. Oliver looked up at him panting, his eyes bright with the fight. Marcus had split his lip. His hair was mussed and he looked positively... sinful._

_Marcus felt Oliver's hands bruising his hips. He couldn't take it anymore._

_"Alright Wood, since my wonderful behaviour is driving you crazy then." He snarled. "I'm gonna say this once, ok? Once. Listen carefully. I hate you. I hate that you're bloody brilliant at Quidditch, I hate that everybody in this damn school adores you, I hate that you can save anything I throw at you, I hate that you're rather clever in all your classes and still able to have time for sports. I hate that you're so_ good _, from the tips of your brown hair all the way down into your bones. I hate-" Marcus choked in a breath, wanting to stop talking, but his mouth had different ideas and he finished. "I hate that I like you. A lot. And you're the one driving me crazy, not the other way around."_

_Marcus felt the blush rise to his face and he clapped a hand to his mouth, realising exactly how much he had just said and what all that meant._

_"Fuck, Wood." He whispered. "Fuck, just forget, just forget I said that, fuck-"_

_"I'd rather not," Oliver said simply, but his eyes reflected the amount of shock he felt. Marcus realised the other boy hadn't taken his hands from off his hips, but his grip was a lot lighter. "You're not taking the piss, I hope?"_

_"You hope?" Marcus said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "What the fuck are you on about-"_

_"Well, I'm going to do something, Marcus Flint." Oliver grinned up at him, his lip still bleeding. "Don't clock me, alright?"_

_Marcus nodded dumbly, and Oliver took his hands off his hips and instead grabbed the front his green robes._

_Oliver had tasted like blood, the first time they kissed, because he was Wood and he was Flint, and they were always opposite._

* * *

 

"What's wrong with you, Marcus?" Terence cuffed the back of his head, desperate. 

The Slytherin team had been trying to get Marcus to his old self for three days. 

Old Marcus was snarky, fiery, temperamental and  _determined._ If he wanted something, he'd get it, and it was a trait admired by many. 

The Marcus that had trudged into the dormitory at 1 AM three days ago with red eyes and wet hair didn't yell anymore, didn't lead, didn't do  _anything._ This Marcus went to the library, for fucks' sake. He was miserable, and everyone was miserable for seeing their strong, terrifyingly strong captain at his knees, surrendering like this. 

This was not Marcus Flint.

Marcus had just felt the days go by. It had been three days, and Oliver wouldn't look at him in the corridors, wouldn't talk to him, and would spin on his heel the other way when Marcus tried to talk to him. 

He felt a dull throbbing sensation in his chest and stomach whenever he saw the familiar head of brown hair.

"Bugger off, Higgs." Marcus muttered, but with no bite. It was the answer everybody got when they tried to approach him. 

"Not till you tell me what's with you." He answered easily, plopping himself into the seat next to his captain. "Talk to me."

Marcus flinched. Three days ago, he heard the same words, and he'd shot them down.

"No."

Terence pressed on. "Is it your grades? They haven't been too bad, have they?"

No response. 

"Folks giving you trouble?"

There. A muscle in his jaw twitched. Terence was warmer. 

"Career? Future?"

A clench. 

"Wood?"

Ah. 

Marcus slammed his hands down, his eyes firing up. He stood up, and with the best angry captain voice he could muster in his state, he looked down at his former seeker coldly. 

"Fuck. Off." He snapped angrily, and stormed out of the room, furious. 

Terence wasn't upset with how their one-sided conversation had turned. Because there, that was the real Marcus Flint. 

Oliver Wood would always, always make Marcus Flint feel things. 

* * *

 

It was two days later when Angelina Johnson had roughly grabbed Marcus by his robe and tugged him into an empty classroom. 

"If this is about Wood-"

"It is." She snapped. "And you will listen to me."

Angelina Johnson was one scary lady. 

"I don't know what happened between you two." She gestured. "But Oliver is miserable. He hasn't trained with the team in five days, and the only time he's ever taken a break was when he was knocked out for a week by your team! He only goes out to fly at night, comes back in the middle of the night absolutely spent and sleeps through breakfast."

Marcus had noticed. The other boy hadn't been at the first meal of the day for the past couple days. 

"He's a wreck." She finished, her voice quivering slightly. "And it hurts me to see him like this. So you need to-"

"Figure it out?" He finally interrupted. "Get my act together? Has it occurred to you that I need Oliver as much as he needs me?"

She stay silent, a little shocked at his outburst. 

He continued, letting all his melancholy from the past week out. "I fucked up. Royally. I said something awful because I'm an awful person with and awful family and you know what? I don't deserve Oliver _fucking_ Wood. He's twice the man I'll ever be and it hurts that I've hurt him and I never, ever want to do something like that again! I basically t-told him-" He started to choke on his words, but he wouldn't, would  _not_ show emotion to Angelina Johnson of all people. "I basically told him I didn't _need_ him. Because I'm not _allowed_ to need him. I'm not allowed to need _anything_."

Angelina looked at him and the pity in her eyes made Marcus want to turn on his heel and run as fast as he could. 

"Oh, Flint." She sighed. "I don't know what you go through, or any of your personal shit. But he loves you, you know? And I'm no Percy Weasley but even I can figure out that you love him too. So just... don't stop. We'll get through to him as well."

And with that, she left him in the classroom, and once again, Marcus was alone.

* * *

 

Just like they had started, and abruptly ended, Marcus and Oliver were on the quidditch pitch.

Oliver hadn't seen Marcus in the hundreds of chairs in the stands as he flew about. The fact that it was dark helped conceal him.

It was 11 PM.

The pitch was where Marcus fell in love with Oliver, he thinks. It was in between determined drills and proud smiles and the showcase of skills that Marcus couldn't stop looking at him. It was when he stripped from his quidditch robes on a particularly hot day and when he high fived Alicia when she pulled off an amazing dive and ruffling Harry's hair like a big brother would.

And here Oliver was, spinning and diving and flying with vigour and daring that he would never dare pull of in a real match. Oliver was practical, and brave, yes, but not risky. 

Marcus' heart ached and he snorted quietly to himself with how stupid he felt, feeling so small. 

He needed to talk to Oliver, needed to try and fix it.

Oliver spun up on his broom, up and up and up, and twisted downwards into a hurtling dive. Marcus almost shouted, but the boy pulled up meters away from the ground. 

He was something else, Oliver Wood.

Marcus whispered a " _lumos_."

His wand lit up and Oliver, noticing the light in the stands, flew over curiously. His face hardened at the sigh of Marcus, and that  _stung._

"Oliver, wait!" Marcus blurted. "Don't go."

"Why shouldn't I?" He replied coldly, but the crack in his voice spoke differently. He crossed his arms, as if protecting himself from Marcus. 

"Three minutes, Oliver. Give me three minutes. If you want to leave after three minutes, then fine." Marcus rasped out, almost begging. 

He almost sagged in relief when the Gryffindor boy nodded.

The thing was, he hadn't planned this far ahead. 

"I didn't mean any of it." He rushed. "I do need you. You're not a burden. You're not a hard life. I had a shit day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you and I didn't mean any of it, Oliver, I swear on my life, on your life, on everything because you're my everything!" He took a breath, and continued steadily on. "My parents want something for me that I don't want. They've been directing me all my life, and I've been following like an _Imperio_ and it's so, so stupid."

Oliver clenched his broom. 

"They sent me a letter that day, wanting me to move towards the family business. Wanting me to find a wife. Have kids, and drink myself to death one day and I was scared. I-I was scared and I took it out on you and I'm so, so sorry, Oliver. I-I love you. I love you. I don't want a wife, or a business. I want you, I want to be with you, I want quidditch, and I want to be selfish. I do need you, Oliver, I do, I don't know what-"

Marcus hadn't realised he'd been babbling until Oliver came and slapped a hand over his mouth. 

"It's okay." Oliver said softly. "I shouldn't have pressed too hard. I love you, Marcus. You need to talk to me, about these things. I plan on sticking it out with you for a long while, and that means getting through things together."

"Why are you sorry?" Marcus burst. "It was my-"

Oliver crashed his mouth onto his, shutting him up promptly, and Marcus melted into it, realising how badly he'd been missing this, had been missing  _them._

Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood would always start a fire. 

They needed each other to survive, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> chat with me on tumblr @oliivverwood


End file.
